


Cellmates For A Night (Friends For Life)

by Huntress79



Series: The Archer & The Con Man [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, White Collar
Genre: Community: gameofcards, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-16 23:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8122279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huntress79/pseuds/Huntress79
Summary: A police station somewhere in the vast Midwestern. Not the kind of place where you would think a lifelong friendship would start, huh? Or getting a job offer? Unless it is. In both cases.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Crossover between my two most favorite fandoms – White Collar and Marvel’s The Avengers. Set very pre-series for White Collar and equally pre-movies for The Avengers, since our main characters are two wayward young men and a much younger S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Part of a new (hopefully) series, where I tap into some aspects of their friendship, their interactions with each other, and meeting some of the other’s most important people. Written for [gameofcards](http://gameofcards.livejournal.com/) Challenge #6 and the prompt “Police Station”. Oh, and the two are a bit closer in age than their respective actors. Unbetaed, so if you spot any typos and/or grammar errors, please point them out to me. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At the tender age of 18, Neal Caffrey wasn’t a stranger to being surrounded by police officers and detectives, given that his father was a police officer himself. And even though Neal only recently learned the cold hard truth about James, that he wasn’t the man Neal wanted him to be, an honest guy who died an heroic death while protecting law and order, but a cop on the take instead, Neal couldn’t help but feel some kind of respect for the men and women in black and blue.

Until now. Two weeks ago, the night after Ellen told him the truth about James at his birthday, Neal couldn’t stand being around his catatonic mother anymore and ran away. He planned on going to New York, but apparently these plans were leading him southward from St. Louis first. And so he found himself in a non-descript, small town, somewhere right in the middle of nowhere.

Apparently, laws meant something different around here than he was used from St. Louis. Up there, no one even cared about it when he strolled into the pool hall on his way to school at the tender age of 9. This little town also had pool tables, situated in the only bar, and Neal was in dire straits for some fresh money, since he only took about 100 dollar with him when he left.

It wasn’t even him playing pool that got him to his current location, it was rather the fact that (a) he wasn’t old enough to get a beer (they only gave it to people over 21) and (b) that the locals didn’t like it when a stranger tried to hustle them for their dollars. Before he even could form an escape plan in his mind, two rather burly officers grabbed him and hauled him across the main street, right into the last cell in the basement of their small police station.

And here he was, staring at the bars separating him from the world. There was no way in heaven or hell to even think about contacting Ellen, she didn’t need that kind of worry. And he was pretty sure that, as soon as they had noticed him gone, the marshals would have gone and changed their telephone number (one of the “perks” of being in WITSEC).

“Hey, Hustler, stop staring and get your ass up!”

Neal’s current train of thought was brought to an impromptu stop by the droning voice of one of the officers that brought him here. Turning around to face the officer, Neal noticed that he apparently was about to get a cellmate, at least for this night.

The young man next to the officer was a bit older than Neal himself (he would guess 20-25), shorter than Neal, with short, dirty blonde hair and keen blue-green eyes, which kept roaming around the whole space. Looks like this guy didn’t plan on staying here either.

“Get in, freak!”

The barked order was accompanied with a rather violent shove, but before Neal could act (or even think about), the other guy stopped his tumble and balanced his body out. Neal was impressed.

“Hi, I’m Neal!”

The other guy turned his gaze from the floor to Neal, the keen eyes widening slightly, as if he just realized that he wasn’t alone in the cell.

“I’m Clint,” he said as introduction, before plopping down on the small bed. “So, Neal, what got you in here?”

“You don’t want to know.” Neal didn’t want to spill any beans to a stranger about himself or his family. What if the other guy was sent in to get information about Ellen or his mother? According to Ellen, James was furious when he learned about them all being in WITSEC.

“Sure I want to know, and since we have nothing better to do around here,” he gestured around him to drive the point home, “you can start talking.”

“Alright,” Neal answered, “but only if you share your story as well.”

“Deal.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As it turned out, Clint was in town with the circus, which he had joined when he was 16, escaping, just like Neal, the familial problems back home. Only difference to Neal’s story was that Clint had taken his baby brother Barney with him, but after not even six months, the boy went back to the family farm in Iowa, promising Clint not to say anything about his new job to their father.

What brought him to Neal’s cell was the fact that said brother suddenly showed up here, demanding that Clint was about to leave with him immediately and get back to their farm. Clint had a different opinion, and so they began to fight before his brother took off, leaving Clint to deal with the furious circus manager and some serious damages to the equipment. Not wanting the man around the circus anymore, the manager called the police to take care of Clint.

“Any idea how we could get out of here?” Neal asked in a whisper.

“Not really, buddy,” Clint answered with a shrug. “If I had a bow and arrow, I could try something, but since my dear brother broke mine in half during our fight…” he stopped when he noticed that Neal was trying to stifle a laugh.

“What’s so funny, kid?” Clint asked, his voice laced with (fake) anger.

“Just the fact that you’re apparently some modern kind of Robin Hood,” Neal answered, still trying to keep his cool.

“Yeah, but different to the man from the Sherwood Forest I don’t rob rich people.” Clint paused, and Neal could all but see the wheels in his head turning. “But that could be your part, if I remember correctly, right?” he said with a wink, his eyes twinkling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the course of the next few hours, Clint and Neal shared pretty much their whole life stories, and for the first time in the last two weeks, Neal didn’t feel alone. He even would go as far as saying that he could imagine Clint being his friend.

“Hey, freak! Your lawyer’s here!”

Once again, the officer’s voice droned around the basement, causing both Clint and Neal to groan.

“Officer, I don’t have a lawyer,” Clint said in the most collected voice he could muster. Was this some trick Barney would play on him?

“Oh yes, Mr. Barton, now you do,” a new voice answered, and only a heartbeat later, a man, a bit older than both Neal and Clint, stopped next to the officer. Judging from his appearance, he really looked like a lawyer, if the perfectly cut, expensive-looking suit, the (probably Italian) leather shoes and the leather briefcase were anything to count for.

The man casted a sharp look at the officer, who muttered something about confidentiality and hurried back upstairs.

“Who the heck are you?” Clint hissed, his posture changing, ready to fight. The other guy didn’t even flinch (or showed any other kind of reaction).

“My name is Phil Coulson, and I’m here to offer you a new job.” While speaking, he pulled out a business card from the breast pocket of his jacket and handed it over to Clint.

All the while, Neal made himself as small as possible, shrinking back to the furthest corner of the bed, trying to give them as much privacy as possible in a shared cell. Yet, he couldn’t help but listen into their conversation.

“Strategic Homeland Inter…,” Clint began to read out loud, then continued non-verbal. “That’s quite a mouthful, and not exactly the name of a law firm.”

“You’re right, Mr. Barton, but if you recall, I never introduced myself as a lawyer. I just used this excuse to get here down to you.”

Neal was, like Clint, baffled by the man’s actions. What did he want from Clint to go to such lengths as even lying to a police officer?

“What do you want?” Clint voiced Neal’s thoughts, his voice still cool, distant and challenging.

“As I said, I’m here to offer you a job. A job with us.”

“What kind of job?”

“One where you could hone your already excellent marksmanship with a bow and arrow to perfection, having the best scientists and weapon designers at your disposal, all the while helping us protecting the world.”

“The world?” Clint echoed, his voice now having an edge of incredulity to it. “And why should I do that?”

“We don’t have the acronym ʻS.H.I.E.L.D.ʼ for nothing. If you join us, we can shield you from your brother and the rest of your family. They will never, ever know where you have gone to.”

At that, Neal’s interest in this Coulson guy piqued up. Sure, it sounded a lot like WITSEC, but Neal hadn’t heard anything about them giving you a new identity and such.

“What kind of job, exactly?” Clint was, if nothing else, relentless.

“You would be going on missions, given to you either by me or the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. Some of these are simple recon missions, others are rescue, and some of them are kind of sniper missions.”

“Only that instead of a bullet, I put an arrow into their head or heart,” Clint concluded, and once again, Neal could almost feel the wheels in the other man’s head turning. Clint was about to accept, of that Neal was sure.

“Fine, let’s say I accept. Can you get my new friend here,” Neal was more than surprised when Clint pointed at him over his shoulder, “also a deal like that?”

“Listen, Clint, I’m flattered about the fact that you would like the same chance for me,” Neal said while getting up and joining Clint at the bars, “but I’m no killer. Sure, I have some talent with a gun and a rifle, according to my aunt, but the only things I’ve ever shot at were some stacked bins. So thanks, but no thanks.”

“What’s your name, son?” Coulson asked.

“Neal, sir, Neal Caffrey.”

“Well, Mr. Caffrey, there are different kind of jobs within S.H.I.E.L.D. Next to executive agents, like Mr. Barton is about to become, we also employ researchers, scientists, pilots, among others. We even have a whole board of secretary, additional to the executive assistants the higher level of organization.”

“Sorry, Mr. Coulson, but I’m not sure if any of this is something I can see me doing for the next 30 years or so.”

“Don’t be. I wasn’t finished. We also have, unofficially of course, a whole slew of so-called “specialists”, who we call in for assistance in certain cases. They also work as our shadow network of researchers, gaining information for us that we can’t obtain on the legal path.” He gave Neal a long gaze, taking the young man in from head to toe. “And if I’m not terribly wrong, this would be a perfect job for you.”

Neal’s only answer was a broad grin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**The End**

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End file.
